


Oedipal (with her face turned)

by merryfortune



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Character Study, Oedipus Rex - Freeform, Other, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-12-07 20:43:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryfortune/pseuds/merryfortune
Summary: It wasn't Oedipal.





	Oedipal (with her face turned)

It wasn’t Oedipal. 

After all, Oedipus didn’t even have an Oedipus complex. Not mention, it was not his Jocasta whom he loved and lusted for. No, he only had a callous rage unto her; she who abandoned him in the forest where he would take a new name and come under the care of a new life, branching out and over him, rooting him into a protective, motherly embrace in a meadowy copse all to themselves, a place he would look back with clarity despite his infancy and an utter fondness that no one but he could understand.

And whilst he had rage, rage towards the blood that birthed him, rage towards the society which rejected him, rage towards those who would otherwise prune his flourishing feelings, he had no manifest rage. No sword or other means to murder his Laius and unlike the prodigal son from the myth, returning home to his unbeknownst birthright, the hubris that he choked on, did not cause him to turn to blade in haste. No, he was far slower than that. Calculating, methodical… 

The sphinx, with golden eyes and a maroon-coloured mane, before him would commend that. Would praise him for that. The games that he played were clever but built over time, stalled out and defensive rather than going on the offensive. 

So no, it wasn’t Oedipal.

It wasn’t Freudian either.

Though he had his fixations: oral, anal, genital, he had no fear of castration. He had no male authoritarian figure in his life whom he could either submit to like a dog, a son or, alternatively, to overcome. Again in what was supposed to be a psychological and bloody battle because manhood, it seemed, even in love and lust, however pure, was always supposed to be violent. And his manhood was anything but.

It was small and subtle and pale. It was among the birds and the bees, in the grass and up in the trees. It was a gentle tenderness shown unto nature and only nature. There, in his domain, his forests and his gardens, it was not kingliness or princeliness which he would acquire but ghostliness. Grief and death, beautiful and wilting.

Thus, with no Jocasta and no Laius and no Polybus, he was free to love and lust for his dear Merope with her face turned, embedded into the grey bark and crimson petals, and only unto him: an illusion of pareidolia and infantile starvation.


End file.
